


Introduction to Oneirology

by ScreamingAtTheSky



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25723375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreamingAtTheSky/pseuds/ScreamingAtTheSky
Summary: Oneirology - the scientific study of dreamsIt has been five years since the study group went their separate ways. Jeff and Britta have been together, happily, for three years now. But will a surprising dream ruin all they've built?
Relationships: Britta Perry/Jeff Winger
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43





	Introduction to Oneirology

**Author's Note:**

> *If you do decide to read this and you are a Jeff/Britta fan, PLEASE do not let the beginning upset/scare you - I promise this is a Jeff/Britta only fic! I adore them as a couple (probably in an unhealthy way if I am being honest) and I will forever be bitter about how the show ended, so in this story I am trying to stay true to the show but also explain decisions and actions from the show's writers/creators that made NO sense to me. Anyway, this is the future I imagine for them because they will ALWAYS be endgame to me. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> *This is the first fic I have ever posted, so sorry if my "Mature" rating isn't right - this has some profanity and mentions of sex, etc. but didn't want to mislead anyone!
> 
> *Also, I think I am supposed to write something about not owning these characters, which I, of course, do not!

Jeff Winger sits in the study room at Greendale Community College, alone. As is often the case, he finds himself wondering just how he got here this time. His head feels a little clouded and he can’t shake the feeling that something major is about to happen, even though everything around him is eerily quiet - never a good sign in this place. He’s in his usual chair, head of the table, back to the door, arms folded across his chest like armor - maybe people won’t know just how much he cares if he makes it look like he doesn’t. He shakes his head, frustrated with himself for letting this place drag him in again, and is about to leave and head home when he hears a small knock on the door frame behind him. He turns in surprise and there she is in the doorway, looking just like she did the last time he saw her - long dark hair down and tucked behind one ear, power suit on, eyes open and bright with a hint of longing, a smile spreading across her face as she takes him and the room they called home for so many years in. She looks beautiful and he feels his heart constrict at the sight of her. It’s been too long.

“Annie!” he exclaims as he rises and hurries over to her. “You’re back!”

“Of course I’m back, Jeff. Did you think my internship at Quantico would last forever?” She tilts her head a little and gives him one of her sweetly condescending smiles, which would probably annoy him if it hadn’t been five years since he’d seen her last. Classic Annie.

“No, I just...I figured you’d end up getting a job out there and then never come back.” He squeezes her upper arm with his hand - platonic shoulder holding as he used to call it - and gives her a knowing smirk. He has classic moves, too.

“I did get offered a job after my internship wrapped up. But I didn’t take it. I came back here, Jeff. So I could be with you.”

She says this so matter-of-factly that the words take longer than usual to register in his brain. When they finally do, he takes an instinctive step back as his arm drops to his side. When things get too serious and he feels uncomfortable, Jeff will run – that’s the Winger guarantee. But the timing isn’t adding up and her actions are just so unfathomable that he has to know more from her.

“Annie, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I decided I’d rather be with you here in Greendale than chase my dreams all the way across the country.” She closes the gap between them and stares up at him, her face still all innocence and hope, like it always was. She is a reminder of what is and what could be all at the same time. He realizes that’s what Annie has always represented for him - possibility.

Annie looks at him expectantly, probably waiting for him to kiss her the way he did after the Transfer Dance at the end of their first year at Greendale. That had been a mistake, of course. She’d just broken up with a boyfriend (albeit a tiny-nippled, hippy one) and he’d been so overwhelmed by his feelings for Britta, the woman he’d been so desperate to get close to that he formed the faux Spanish study group-turned found family for in the first place, and her long-awaited declaration of love for him at the dance that he’d run out, as usual too afraid to face and/or actually decide what he wanted. Afraid to choose Britta because he knew, deep down, if he did make it official with her, that was it. She was it. She was all he wanted, not just that whole first year at Greendale, but his whole adult life. She was strong, opinionated, challenging, beautiful, funny even when she didn’t mean to be. She was the woman he could be himself with, but as someone who didn’t always like himself all that much, how could he be with her? How could he look into her perceptive eyes every day and know that she’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t actually deserve her love because he couldn’t even earn his own? As a disgraced former-but-not-actual-lawyer, it would be his biggest scam to date, and he couldn’t do that. Not to her. So, he left her and his own issues behind and instead shared a passionate kiss with Annie, the teenager who thought he hung the stars but didn’t know better and certainly wouldn’t figure out his own insecurities anytime soon. She was so young and optimistic; he was certain she wouldn’t even take the initiative to look for them. Does he want to do the same now? Does he want to take advantage of the misguided optimism of this woman? It’s been ten years since their first real kiss, surely, he’s grown up a little since then.

But her eyes are just so hopeful as they bore into his, and isn’t that what everyone needs? A little hope? Isn’t this what every man wants, to be on the receiving end of the unfaltering love of a beautiful woman?

“Are you sure you want this, Annie? I mean, your life could take you anywhere. Are you sure you’ll be happy here?” He gestures around the room.

She takes his hand in hers and intertwines their fingers. Her voice comes out breathy, but firm. “I want to be where you are. And you’re here. So here works fine, I guess.”

It’s the “I guess” that forces Jeff back into reality. He can’t ask her to do this (although, he admits, he hasn’t really asked her to do anything - she came here, not the other way around), he can’t make her give up her dreams of an adventurous and fulfilling life for a life with him. He’d done a lot of work on himself over the years, mostly as a result of the encouragement of a certain feisty blonde whose voice still always repeats in his head - because, while you can run away from people, you can’t force them to run away from you; sometimes they’re just constants in your life. In his heart, he knows that Annie is destined for great things, things that far outreach Greendale, Colorado. He couldn’t ask her to give them up. He couldn’t claim that kind of power over another person, no matter how naive that person may still seem to be.

“Annie, no. Come on. You can’t be serious. You’ll be happy wherever I am? That’s not how life works. And it’s not how yours should work.” He pulls his hand from hers and backs up again, trying to put the distance between them that he needs to make his point. Just like he always tried to do when they were in the study group together. Keep her at arms’ length. Resist any urges. At the time he thought it would be because them being together would be taboo, but now that he looks at it with fresh eyes, he realizes the truth - they are from two different worlds, they have two different stories. She’s not the female lead in the movie of his life and he’s certainly not the hero in hers.

Undeterred and determined as ever though, Annie closes the gap again. “Jeff,” she says his name in that high-pitched, expectant way she always used to, “why are you fighting this? I’m telling you I love you. I’m telling you that you don’t have to worry about regret anymore. I’m telling you I want to be with you. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Isn’t that what you still want?”

He’s about to let her down with a gentle but direct, “No, it’s not, I’m sorry,” but when he opens his mouth to speak, she reaches up on her toes and presses her soft lips against his and suddenly he’s falling...  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Jeff wakes with a start. He glances over at the clock on his bedside table. 7:10 am. He rubs his face with his hands, sits up and looks around the room, taking stock as he catches his breath and feels his heart rate return to normal. He ticks off everything he sees that reminds him of his real life and calms down with each noticing. Closet adorned with work shirt and tie ready for teaching his two classes tomorrow. Painting of snowy mountains hanging on the wall straight ahead that he never would have chosen in a million years, but it makes her feel connected to nature or some nonsense like that. Shoes he’d taken off last night that he’d been too lazy to put away strewn beside the bed on his left. And, to his right, he sees it - the sight that always grounds him when he feels like he’s going off the rails - her head of tousled blonde waves spread across her pillow, content in sleep, and he breathes a deep sigh of relief. He didn’t ruin anything. She’s here. She’s his. Britta.

Just a dream. Just a weird dream, he tells himself, as he sweeps his fingers across her delicate back, causing her to stir and let out a huff of annoyance. She’d never been a morning person, and that hadn’t changed.

“Jeff, if you’re waking me up for morning sex, I’m going to kick your ass. We had sex twice last night and I’m so tired.” She says all this into her pillow so her words are muffled and her hair blows away from her face every time she exhales and he’s overcome with so much emotion for her he has to kiss the top of her head as his fingers continue tracing circles on her back. She’s right too, they had had a lot of sex last night. But that’s what happens when they go out for drinks with the dean - Craig, he reminds himself, for the millionth time - and his husband, Patrick. She gets nostalgic, he gets horny (probably because Craig still finds an excuse to touch Jeff’s body anytime he can and, hey, he works hard on this body so the appreciation turns him on a little, especially when he notices her take it in, too), they both get tipsy, and it’s no secret that Britta, Jeff, and alcohol make for a dangerously delicious combination. He’s so wound up from his dream though, he can’t think about sex right now if he tries. He just needs to be close to her.

“No sex, I had a weird dream. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Something about the sincerity of his tone or the words themselves force Britta awake and she groans and turns her head to face him. She looks up at him through narrowed eyes, a face he’s seen so many times over the years he could draw it from memory if he had any artistic talent whatsoever. Which, thanks to her, he’s now comfortable admitting he doesn’t.

“Are you ok?” She almost growls the words.

“Yeah, of course. It just...made me a little uncomfortable, that’s all.”

“Did you have your female president nightmare again? You should be more open to women in positions of power, Jeff. We are toppling the patriarchy, one straight white man at a time.”

Normally, he’d spar with her at this point (Him? Afraid of a woman in power? Sha, he is perfectly comfortable with outspoken, empowered women. How else could he have been with Britta all these years?), but all he can muster is a halfhearted side-eye and tsk in her direction. 

Apparently concerned by this, Britta leans up on her elbows and continues to search his eyes with hers. The crease between her brows deepens and, as usual, he wishes he could read her mind. He’s about to make one of his flippant jokes like, “Don’t hurt yourself,” when she asks, “Was it about Annie?”

His fingers stop dancing across her back immediately. He can’t speak at first, which almost never happens to him. He actually forgets how perceptive she is sometimes. Britta wasn’t someone who could be described as book smart, but damn could she read people like a book. At least, she could read him like one, and he’d let her do so for the past eleven years, cover to cover.

He blanches. Stutters. “What? I didn’t - huh - who said -,” he attempts to laugh off her words which, of course, only convinces her even more of how right she is. She nods to herself and sits up to match him now, both of their backs pressed against the cherry wood headboard as they look at each other. Her eyes are wide with love and he acquiesces.

“How did you know?”

“Because you look guilty, like you do when I catch you watching porn or eating carbs.”

He can’t help but chuckle at this. He does do both of those things, on occasion, and neither make him feel like the best version of himself, the version he’s tried really hard to become. For her. 

Neither of them says anything for a moment, lost in thought. He’s nervous about how she’ll react, hopeful that she’s not going to make this a thing.

“Jeff,” she says his name in that knowing, protective way she always has, the way that makes him feel like he’s actually worth something, “it’s ok. We all have dreams about people and things from our past. It means we’re growing up.”

He scoffs, surprised and somewhat perturbed by how rationally she’s handling this. After all, he didn’t want her to freak out, but a little reaction might be nice. “She says at the age of 39.”

“Hey, don’t mess with me. It’s early and I was sleeping. You’re the one in crisis here, Winger. Now shut up and let me therapize you.”

The power of her words and ideals has never matched her petite size and that is still the case now - spaghetti arms folded across her chest, legs too short to even reach the middle, let alone the end, of the bed, mouth turned down at his interruption. And those eyes. Unwavering. Daring him to interrupt again. She’s a warrior, his warrior, and there’s no one he’d rather have fighting on his side than Britta Perry. He only wished it hadn’t taken him so long to accept that fact. He’d always known it, of course, but knowing and accepting are two different things entirely.

He smiles at her and cups her cheek with his left hand, running his thumb along her lips, something he does to reassure her he’s locked in the moment. He doesn’t remember when he started doing it, it’s been years after all, but it has become a habit of his and it always works. Her lips curve up in a small smile and she kisses his thumb. Silent apology accepted.

“As I was saying,” she rolls her eyes, “it is perfectly normal to have dreams about our past. And their meaning isn’t black and white. Usually our dreams represent other things - fears, regrets, tough decisions, change.” She shrugs her shoulders and leans over and kisses him on the cheek while patting his chest. “Nothing to worry about.”

“So, you’re not mad I had a dream about Annie?” 

Britta is so confident at times and so insecure at others, even after all these years. It’s impossible to tell what will set her off versus what will be shrugged off. The night he’d taken her to a work holiday party and spent a little too much time flirting with the attractive female bartender (well, Britta called it flirting, he called it his uncontrollable Winger charm - the thing has a mind of its own) resulted in one of their biggest fights ever. They fought the whole car ride home and didn’t hold anything back. Her eyes were so full of hurt, she looked so betrayed. She hadn’t even wanted to come to this party, she’d said, he’d made her feel like a fool. She threatened to leave and never come back and it scared the shit out of him. He put his pride to the side, not an easy feat for Jeff Winger, and begged her forgiveness. He couldn’t lose her; she was the best thing to come out of his time at Greendale. Hell, she was the best thing that had ever happened to him period and for once he told her that without any pretense. The makeup sex they had that night was one (or three, if he recalls correctly) for the history books. Meanwhile, the time he found out her favorite mug, the one he always made her tea in, the one that said, “Cat Lady” with that stupid cat-face-with-heart-eyes emoji on it, was actually a gift from an ex-boyfriend? Well, now it was his turn to feel betrayed. Who holds on to things that remind them of exes (the box under his bed containing items left behind by girlfriends and one-night stands past not withstanding)? When she called him on it, though, he insisted it didn’t bother him, of course, made snide comments about this guy he’d never met, laughed it off as she rolled her eyes in that “Oh, Jeff” way that just made him madder, and then, while she was out at work, he spitefully used that very mug to drink too much scotch until he threw it against the wall, smashing it into a million pieces. When she got home, he expected to see fits of rage, but instead, she looked at him with such understanding and acceptance that it propelled him back in time to when she’d stood by his side as he confronted his estranged father and, before he knew it, she was accepting his offer to be his girlfriend - and, again, they were having amazing sex. The point is, this woman is a hurricane and he doesn’t want to spend a peaceful Sunday together worried that he’s unintentionally hurt her.

Britta pushes the comforter off her and starts to climb out of their bed, fully awake now, her T-shirt and sleep shorts somehow still the sexiest combination he’s ever seen. “Of course not,” she says, not looking at him as she starts picking clothes up off the floor to put in the laundry basket, her side of the room always messier and less organized than his. “I had a dream about Troy the other night. It was no big deal.”

“What?”

His tone is probably too harsh and too loud, and it causes Britta to drop the clothes she’d picked up. She glares at him and shushes him as her eyes dart across the room. He feels bad for being so loud this early in the morning. It’s not even 7:30.

“Sorry,” he whispers and holds his hands up in surrender. “But, what the hell Britta?”

He’s lowered his voice but he’s not ready to let this go yet. This is completely unexpected. They talk about their time at Greendale fondly, and often. After all, it was where they met. Greendale Community College changed their lives forever. It made them and their ragtag group of misfits an unlikely family, as Abed would say. But their conversations were always filled with memories and shared experiences, sometimes confessions, but not usually about one person in particular, except maybe Magnitude. Or Leonard. Attending his funeral together last year had almost crushed them both. When Jeff leaned over and whispered in Britta’s ear, “Shut up Leonard. You were a great man and you won’t be forgotten,” it was the hardest they had both ever cried. No, mostly they talked about their time there as if all of them were one entity - the Greendale Seven, the Study Group - not individuals. And especially not lion-hearted, funny, talented individuals that used to be her boyfriend.

She gives him a patient and reassuring look. “Winger, relax. So I had one sex dream about Troy one time. It doesn’t mean anything, that’s my whole point.”

She resumes picking up her clothes and placing them in the laundry basket as if nothing earth shattering has just been revealed. As if she hasn’t just turned his world upside down with one sentence. As if the entire foundation of honesty that their relationship was built upon hasn’t just been struck by lightning, hit by an earthquake, and smashed by an asteroid all at once. (Being with Britta had really increased his flair for the dramatic.)

He gets out of bed, rushes over to her and stands right in front of her, interrupting her task once again and using his height and impeding presence to lock her in place like he always does, while still being sure to leave just enough space between their bodies to remind her that she can walk away anytime she wants. He learned early on that when Britta feels trapped, she will run and there’s nothing scarier he can think of than being the reason she feels threatened enough to run away.

“You had a sex dream about Troy, and you weren’t going to tell me?” His voice is deeper than usual. He can’t help it. Being this close to her always sends sparks between them. He knows she feels them too by the way she puffs out her chest, locks her jaw, and flings her hair back from her face with one hand. Needlessly defiant, as always.

“No, Jeff, I wasn’t going to tell you, for this exact reason, you psychotic caveman.” She presses her right index finger into his chest hard as she hurls the insult at him and, man, if he isn’t suddenly ready for round three.

“Caveman? Please. You’re insane. I’m self-actualized. Thanks to you, by the way.” He lets that complisult hang in the air between them. He doesn’t move his hands at all, letting his eyes do all the touching as he skims them up and down her body, the satisfied smirk never leaving his face.

Never one to back down from a fight, especially a fight with him, her cheeks are flushed, and her breathing is heavy. She enjoys this just as much as he does. They might be fucked up, but they’re perfect for each other. Of that he has no doubt.

“If you were so self-actualized, you wouldn’t be threatened by your girlfriend who loves you and is in your bed every night having a dream she can’t even control about another man.” She gives him her patented self-satisfied smirk, thinking she’s won, like she always does. But she hasn’t, of course. This train hasn’t even left the station. Jeff Winger doesn’t lose arguments.

“Threatened, Britta? By the man-child you used to let flounder around on top of you for five minutes? As usual, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“Oh, and you wouldn’t know anything about being a man-child, considering you cried when I accidentally threw away your conditioner last month.”

“That was $300 hair paste that I ordered from Italy. And we both know it was no accident!”

“For the thousandth time, Jeff, I apologized. I thought the bottle was empty—"

“That is not what this is about, Britta! Don’t change the subject!”

“Then what is it all about?” She gestures between them, her fingers slightly brushing his chest as she does so.

“You haven’t picked up on this by now, doctor? Even you’re smarter than that. I’m pissed off.”

“You’re actually mad at me about a dream? Jeff, this is ridiculous even for a textbook narcissist like you—“

“Not pissed about your dream, dummy. Pissed that you weren’t going to tell me about your dream.”

“You weren’t going to tell me about your dream!”

“Yeah, but in my dream Annie and I only kissed - a kiss she initiated, by the way. We certainly didn’t fuck.” He gives her a smug smirk but even he has to admit he’s not sure what he’s smug about - not dream cheating as badly as she did? It doesn’t matter though. He just loves bickering with her. He could literally do this all day and he’s pretty sure she could too.

“Oh, wow, well congratulations on winning the who-had-the-less-sexy-dream contest. To Victor go the spoils.”

“It’s ‘to the victor go the spoils,’ but keep going. You’re doing great.” He makes it a point to turn up the sarcasm as much as possible when fighting with her because he knows how much it irks her.

“I will keep going, thank you. Just like Troy, I can go all night.”

“Really? Can you? Because I’m pretty sure you spend most of your nights boring people with feminist rants and conspiracy theories about our totalitarian government.”

“You know what, for once, I hope Big Brother is monitoring our conversations, so I can have witnesses who see what an ass you are.”

They are as close as two people can be without actually touching now and if he doesn’t kiss her soon, he thinks he might explode. She glances at his lips. It’s quick, almost fleeting, but it’s all the invitation he needs. He wraps his arms around her waist, sprawling his long fingers across her back, and closes the tiny gap between their bodies by pulling her to him and pressing himself firmly against her. She gasps, even after all this time, and instinctively runs her hands along his shoulders, around his neck, and into his hair as their lips meet and they explore each other’s mouths and bodies. This is how it’s always been with them, and how it will always be, all hands and passion and fire. But, beneath all that, two people in love. Real love. Love that still needs to be validated, love that’s not going anywhere and doesn’t get controlled or derailed by silly dreams and might-have-beens and what-ifs.

After what feels like an hour, they end their kiss but keep their arms around each other and share a long look. Britta stares into his eyes and every emotion she’s ever had shines in them. No one has ever looked at him the way Britta does - her eyes reach right through his and into his soul. When she looks at him like that, whether it’s with pride or lust or anger or gratitude or frustration or contentment or a mix of them all, he feels known and seen in a way that he would never trade in, not for a thousand furtive glances with a friend-who-could-be-more-than-that, not for a night of eye-fucking with some bartender at a party, not for any other woman in the world.

“Well, I won’t be dreaming about Troy tonight,” she says breathlessly. He’s sure she knows it’s what he needs to hear, that he needs her to appeal to his manhood right now, to feed his ego, but he doesn’t care. She’s doing what Britta does best, meeting his needs right where they are and accepting him for the man he is, flaws and all.

“Oh, come on Britta. You don’t know that. You can’t control your dreams.”

She laughs and smacks him playfully on the chest as she removes herself from his embrace and starts to cross the room. “You sound like a genius! But, seriously, don’t worry about dreams - yours or mine. This relationship is a choice, Jeff. One we make, over and over again. Every day. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t what we really wanted.”

She makes a good point (‘wait, what?’ he can’t help but think), but, “Why the dream, then?” He asks it more to himself than to her. He knows the dream doesn’t mean he loves Annie. There was a time when he thought he did, when the fear of losing the life he’d come to know and love at Greendale as well as his perpetual position as the savior of the members of their group, especially her, had caused his heart to surge in her presence. The desire to protect someone is strong - something he’d understood better than ever in these past seven months - and it can take over your whole being. There was even a time when the realization that she was moving on with her life and he was going to be stuck in the same place he’d been for the past six years, a place he never thought he’d be, had caused him to imagine a future with her and even declare his love. But then, being the ambitious and steadfast woman she is, she’d left to follow her dreams and soon enough he realized...he didn’t miss her, not really, and certainly not like he thought he would. Life went on. Sure, he missed the idea of her, he missed his friend, but he didn’t miss her in a way he imagined losing the love of your life would feel - he didn’t feel like a part of him had gone with her, like a part of him was missing. He still felt whole and complete and...fine. Just lonely. And a little sad. And unsure of where his life would go.

And who did he turn to whenever he felt any kind of emotion that he wasn’t comfortable with? Britta. So, as reason would have it, who did he turn to when he decided he really did enjoy teaching and wanted to apply to be a professor at the University of Denver and needed someone to practice interview questions with? Britta. Who helped him choose which cereal to buy and how to decorate his new apartment? Who argued with him about the identities of the contestants on The Masked Singer and yelled at him for being racially insensitive when he said how much the Asian judge reminded him of Chang? Who did he drink scotch with and get his first pedicure with? Britta. And who did he attend protests with, even if he never actually knew what they were for? Whose hand did he hold as she had to put one of her cats to sleep (he thinks it was Claw-ria Steinem, but he can’t quite remember)? And who did he support, both financially and emotionally, through getting a master’s degree in Psychology and finding her calling as a school guidance counselor? Britta. 

And then, a couple years into their comfortable routine of supporting each other and being kickass best friends, on an exceptionally warm Friday night in June, he came to meet her while she was bartending at The Vatican, like he always did, and she spent the whole time talking his ear off about some new guy she was dating - some astronaut or engineer or pilot or something who was so kind and helpful and involved in the community - he could barely listen, the whole conversation made him feel sick. But he put on his “supportive friend face,” the one she’d helped him perfect over the years from watching her choose wrong guy after unbearably wrong guy over him and listened and smiled in all the right places until he couldn’t take anymore. So, he made some lame excuse about needing to get up early the next day and he left, just to avoid the intensity of his feelings for her. Just like he’d done after the Transfer Dance. Just like he’d done on more than one occasion, actually. Why was he so unwilling to put his heart on the line when it came to Britta? Especially when she wasn’t leaving. She’d be there, around him, in his orbit, but not with him. And as he walked to his car, it occurred to him that he didn’t want history to repeat itself this time. It occurred to him that he wouldn’t be able to hang out with her anymore, to spend all their free time together, to do what people do. And all at once it felt like a part of him was missing - a toe, an arm, an essential organ, he couldn’t tell which, but the thought of losing her overwhelmed him and he suddenly felt...incomplete. And not fine. And just as he turned around to go back into the bar to confess this to her, there she was, standing right in front of him, completely aware of how uncomfortable he’d been the whole night because that was Britta. She saw through every facade, every ruse, every line. She reached up and ran her fingers along his jawline and whispered, “Jeff...” and that was it. He took her in his arms and lifted her up and kissed her like his life depended on it because he was pretty sure it did. She was his partner in crime, his leading lady, his reality. She was the one who made the mundane occurrences of everyday life bearable - and isn’t that what matters? She was it for him, just like he knew she’d be all those years ago. But now, he’d accepted it, and knowing and accepting are two different things entirely. After that, they’d moved in together and stayed wrapped in their own bliss for the past three years. There wasn’t a day Jeff regretted his decision and there wasn’t a moment, whether they were fighting, fucking, or anything in between, that he wasn’t completely convinced that this wasn’t exactly what satisfaction with your life feels like.

“Honestly? I don’t know.” Her voice breaks him from his reverie, and he turns to look at her. She’s across the room now, reaching down for something and picking it up carefully, not looking at him as he stands there, frozen, captivated by the tenderness and grace of her movements. “But you’re a father now, Jeff. So, cut yourself some slack. Because she deserves you at your best. Always.”

Britta turns toward him, their daughter Samantha cooing and wriggling in her mother’s arms, and the feeling of love that fills Jeff’s body is stronger than anything he’s ever felt, for anything or anyone. He can’t help but automatically reflect on how crazy life’s twists and turns can be. Just like meeting Britta in the first place, starting a family with her had been unplanned and unexpected but, ultimately, the best surprise of his life. And, gun to his head, if he had to pinpoint the time Samantha was conceived, he was pretty sure he could. Britta had asked him once, years ago, if he wanted kids and he’d joked back that she should put on something nice and meet him after lunch. Well, on the first day of classes in January nine years later she’d done just that, surprising him in his lecture hall at University of Denver, wearing a Catwoman costume that, frankly, should have been illegal (and that she swore she’d never wear again because, seriously, the sexualization of female villains in movies is insane). Case in point - hurricane.

He smiles softly as he watches Britta rock Samantha back and forth and sing quietly to her, just slightly off-key, and he resolves once again to never become his father. More than ever, he can’t understand that man’s choices. Nothing in this world means more to him than this - the family he created, the family he chooses, over and over again, every day. Losing it, giving it up? You’d have to pry it from his cold, dead hands, and even then, he’s not sure he’d let go.

Jeff nods and walks over and wraps his arms around them, holding his family as close as he can, trying to memorize this moment, knowing that there is nothing about it he would change, even if he could. He’s still not sure what his dream meant, maybe he never will be, but he’s sure as hell he doesn’t care.

Jeff and Britta smile at each other and then look down at their baby, as they squeeze and wiggle her adorable little toes. Samantha’s eyes are open and full of life already - darting across the room, ready to take on the world, change some lives, and kick some ass. They made this little warrior, Jeff thinks to himself as she smiles up at him, and he can’t remember feeling prouder about anything he’d ever done.

Greendale Parents for the win.


End file.
